What I really want to do is get up and pace, expend some of this nervous energy but, again, there’s a chance of being caught. If I didn’t have that stupid light shining in the window, I could probably get away with it more easily.
I could pace against the inside wall, the one separating my room from the hallway. That would allow me to move a little while minimizing the risk of being caught. I stare out the window to the hallway from my bed for just a moment before bouncing up and moving toward the wall. From there, I can still see out of the window on the door down the hall toward the cafeteria, but I can’t look the other direction.
I am so keyed up, but I shouldn’t be. Even though Joe and I have kissed lots of times before, that doesn’t mean anything else will happen.
But something inside me has awakened. Sex feels like such a natural progression, and I know it will be emotional, meaning it will have the possibility of completely cracking my mind open for me to explore.
I’m as excited about that possible outcome as I am the actual act.
Besides, I’m pretty sure I’ve had sex before—but I can’t remember, so I’m curious.
I can’t wait to experience it. I hope Joe is thinking the same thing—but I won’t know until he’s here.
After waiting a while longer, I begin to wonder if maybe he was caught sneaking out of his room. If he was, he’ll never show up here—and maybe he’ll be put in that solitary place.
Now my stomach is in knots. Taking a chance, I tiptoe over to the window on the door and peek out. There’s no one in the hall so I look both ways multiple times. There is not a soul out there.
Not that I can do anything. My door, as always, is locked. I doublecheck the handle just to be sure, but it is.
My tummy is roiling so badly, I feel like I could throw up. But now I’m certain something’s happened to Joe and my mood plummets—making me wonder again what I’m in here for. Am I emotionally stable? How would a normal person handle this?
It’s not just my shoulders slumping; it’s my entire body as I shuffle back to my bed. Before I get in, I reach under it and feel against the wall for my pills. It takes a bit to make sure I have them all, but once they’re all in my hand, I rise and crawl into bed, placing them under my pillow.
And now I feel like if I wasn’t so worried about him, I might even cry.
Curled up in a ball, I practically hug myself and try really hard to think of something else—but I can’t. My thoughts are completely with Joe. Now I’m wishing I had paperclips like he does so I could try to escape my room and try to help him—but that’s unrealistic. I have no idea how to make them work.
Something flashes in my brain again of one thing I could do. But it was something someone told me at one time was complete and utter bullshit, that stupid hippy stuff. Who was that in my head? I can’t see a face, but I hear a man’s voice—and I see myself with my eyes closed, on the floor, sitting cross legged, my palms face up, resting on my knees—sending good vibes.
Meditating?
I’m not sure, and it’s gone in an instant, but now I wonder if I could do something like that—send Joe positive energy.
Would something like that even work?
It’s better than the alternative.
But as my stomach begins churning acid once more, I hear a click at my door. I open my eyes and sit up—but what if that’s not Joe? What if it’s someone coming to check on me because of Joe? Cautiously, I lie back down, straining to see if I can spy anyone through the window. I don’t, but I can hear something.
Screw it. If someone like a tech or a nurse is coming in my room, I can tell them the truth: I got up because I heard a noise at the door.
And what if one of the pills they give me is supposed to make me sleep?
It doesn’t matter. I’m tired of lying here, completely stressed out.
When I get up, I practically run to the door and, when I get there, I still can’t see anyone through the window—until I get on my tiptoes and look down. Then I can see someone hunched over. I feel the door begin to push against me so I back up. Joe is coming through the doorway, and he pauses just inside as he removes the little pieces of wire out of the keyhole.
I move back a little farther and whisper, “I was starting to worry about you.”
Gently, he eases the door back into place, and I hear a loud click as it locks again. “I guess I should have warned you that it might take me a little bit. I got out of my room just fine, but there was a nurse and an aide in the hall bitching about something going on. I thought about going the other way, but there’s a door there that’s sometimes locked—not to mention it passes the rec and living rooms. I think they clean them at night, so I didn’t want to chance it.”
“What would happen if they caught you?”
“First, they’d ask why I was up—and, if I was caught in a lie, I might get in trouble.”
“What happens if you get in trouble?”
“I don’t know. I don’t plan to find out.” Then, after he walks in farther, he says, “I need to find a good place to set my tools.”
I start giggling. “Wherever you like.”
“You know I’m gonna have to go back to my room before morning, right?”
I suppose I do know that, but I hadn’t thought much about it until he said something. I refuse to let myself be sad because I have him here with me right now. My life span as I know it has been but a few days, each made up of little moments. His time with me will encompass lots of those—so I can’t complain.
“Oh, I need to move my pills, too.”
“Where do you keep them?”
“Usually under my pillow.” The sound he makes tells me he thinks it’s a bad idea. “But I’ll put them under the bed while you’re here.”
“Put ‘em between the mattress and the box spring.”
“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“And I’ll put my clips there, too. Let me just smooth them out a bit.” In the dark, it’s hard to tell, but he looks like he’s bending them a little. In the meantime, I fetch my pills from under my pillow and slide them under the mattress. I like that idea—especially if I shove them under far enough and I’m rushed in the morning for some reason, I can get them later. If I put them at least as far as the middle, then even if someone were to make the bed, they wouldn’t find them.
Unless, of course, they’re looking for them.
For now, though, I’m not going to worry about it. As usual, Joe has given me an amazing idea. Seconds later, I feel the heat from his body as he joins me, shoving the paperclips under the mattress at the foot of the bed.
“So why don’t you stand up?” he asks. As soon as I do, he takes me in his arms and kisses me passionately. “Do you want to talk a while?”
I do, but we talk all the time. Here, alone, behind a door and in the dark, we can do whatever we like. “Maybe later,” I say coyly, trying to stop being so shy about what I want.
“Okay,” he says, and suddenly he whips me around so that my back is pressed against the wall. At first, it’s disconcerting and maybe even a little frightening, but I find I’m enjoying the change of pace. His arms are around my waist but, as I bring my fingers to his chest, he takes my hands in his. “You don’t need to be embarrassed with me, Anna. You can tell me what you like and what you don’t like.”